Jazz, Singing and other follies

A Life Well Lived

2012-02-07T13:32:00.000-08:00

What is a life well lived? A rich life, one that allows me to look back and smile?
I've been feeling quite philosophical lately. Have looked at the restrictions that are laid upon us from the outside (religion, society, family), and limitations that we set for ourselves (I shouldn't be doing this because...). I find it very easy to give in to the dark pull of depression, to say, "what is the purpose of all this striving, achieving, goal setting, running towards said goal with blinders on? We can't take anything with us when we die." Nobody, not even the most enlightened being on this Earth can more than speculate on what actually happens beyond this life.

Not being religious myself I cannot escape into the comfort of dogma. Because I simply don't know. I have no clue what the purpose of my existence is. Surely one can see how quickly this train of thought can pull you into a dark hole that leads nowhere. Been there, done that.

But because I don't have the answers to the purpose of our existence, and because I simply don't know if there is a life after death I can give myself permission to look at THIS life, THIS day as intensely precious. There is tremendous freedom in letting go of outer and inner limitations. The less I allow myself to be guided by what I supposedly "can't" do the more I can feel a sense of creativity flow through every fiber of my being.

So what is a life well lived? I'm in the process of sorting that one out. Hopefully, with every day that I allow myself to BE as opposed to whipping myself into shape in order to fit into my own or someone else's idea of who or what I am "supposed" to be, I get closer to a sense of connection, a sense of participation in the grand creation that goes on all around us all the time. And hopefully there will be a whole lot of laughter, companionship, love and really good food along the way.

Hello, Silence, My Old Friend

2012-02-01T14:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when the studio is open, I sit in the soundproof live room, in the silence. It's what attracted me to the studio in the first place. I could actually, honest to god, hear the blood rush in my ears. And not much else.

I'm pretty used to noise. You've got to be when you live in New York City. And as a recording studio owner - forgetaboutit!

I am also married to a pianist who tends to practice in the morning when I am getting my writing done. I've gotten pretty good at phasing his practice out of my consciousness, but recently he started practicing licks in odd meters. Try writing to that!

So, in lieu of a silent room I have to escape into a room made of sound, out of necessity. But the sound room must not have any words, or rhythm, or discernible melodies, really. I find all of that distracting. No, the walls of my sound room tend to be made of dare-I-say new-agey stuff that consists of sound layers, maybe some ocean waves sprinkled in and not much else. It's the next best thing to sitting in the live room of my recording studio, the room within the room that allows me to breathe and NOT hear anything, so i don't have to listen.

Bliss.

Vocal Workshop Hilden Impressions

2012-01-25T15:19:00.000-08:00

What was going to happen was this: we (my voice coach colleague Manfred Billmann and myself) were going to do our damnedest to help the participants of this workshop have a fabulous time expressing themselves through singing, AND putting a show together after three (!!!) days. The participants were game! We warmed up, warmed up some more, worked on many solo performances and a group piece, and, in the end, did our show at the Blue Note in Hilden. The show ended on a high note, with just about everybody in the room singing and dancing along. And then we slept. (Oh, and by the way, the rakish fella with the red guitar is the mastermind behind the whole thing: Axel Fischbacher!)

If any of the participants would like me to add their foto to the blog drop me a line, and I'll do so. (Photos by Harald W. Degener)

New Year Vocal Jazz Workshop

2012-01-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

Well, this was a good start into the New Year! From January 4th through January 6th, thirty-odd vocalists gathered in the small town of Hilden, located on the outskirts of Duesseldorf, to sing, swing, have fun and possibly explore their boundaries and ways to overcome them. I can attest to the fun having been had, to an intense work ethic and willingness of the participants to engage with myself and fellow voice coach Manfred Billmann, to cheer each other on and push themselves just a little bit further than what might be comfortable.

It was a rare, amiable group that we had the great fortune to work with, and I watched with great pride as the participants put on a really well rounded show on the evening of day three, at the Blue Note in Hilden.

Thanks again to the lovely people who sang, played in the two fabulous bands, to Manfred Billmann and, of course, the puppet master in the background, Axel Fischacher, for three intense, inspiring and fun days of music.

Happy 2012, looking forward to the 2013 workshop! (Will post a couple of photos once they are available)

Winter in Austria

2011-12-29T14:58:00.001-08:00

The Road Comes To An End

2011-12-21T04:29:00.000-08:00

Two days left. Two shows - and then the "Christmas In July" Tour 2011 is over.
The world has moved on while I am suspended in tour bubble land. Catastrophes have happened, world leaders have died. Who knows what the future - or even tomorrow - brings. I do not have power over the big things, at least not in an imminent way.

All I can do is take note of the world, be compassionate and involved (mentally, spiritually, possibly monetarily - budget allowing), take a breath and prepare for my next gig. It's what I do.

So tonight we'll play a place called "Herzblut" in Bocholt. The name translates to "blood of the heart", and apparently the owner has already bought 50 santa hats to enhance the audience's Christmas cheer. Yodwy! Maybe I'll put one on as well, if the fancy strikes me.

And tomorrow - ah, tomorrow! We'll end the tour in Berlin at B-Flat, after a long drive through the forecast rain (thankfully - it could have been snow!!!). I'm looking forward to seeing friends I don't get to hang with nearly often enough, to playing this fun fun program one more time with this really excellent band, and to a glass of prosecco with my friend and vocalist colleague Alexa Rodrian.

A shout-out to the touring band is in order here:
A (slightly pre-mature) thank-you to Axel Fischbacher and Walter Fischbacher, my two partners in this particularly devious recording/touring scheme.
To Nico Brandenburg on bass, and to Ulf Stricker on drums!
Let's make the last two shows as fun and musically fulfilling as the 10 that went before.

Happy holidays! Peace, love and good fortune in the upcoming year!

The Tour Bubble

2011-12-13T04:03:00.000-08:00

It's a strange mental state, being on tour. Although social media are everywhere these days, and you can pretty much find a cafe in any town that has the coveted free wifi, my mind can't take in what happens outside the daily touring routine. I'm not sure if other musicians feel the same way, but for me, every minute of every day rotates around the current and next gig. Scheduling prep time, gargling, steaming, when to drink my last coffee, driving, setting up, warming up, make-up. When to eat - a difficult decision for a vocalist. As a band leader I also need to make sure that my band members are fed, have a place to sleep and are generally taken care of.

This tour is somewhat different, as I am not the sole leader of the band. There's actually three of us, and luckily we complement each other quite nicely. This takes quite a lot of weight off my shoulders. Still - there's really no room in my head for socializing. I can only imagine what the outside perception of a person would be who is trying to have a conversation with me during this time. Can't be fulfilling. I'm generally sporting a vague smile, while mentally and physically either recovering from the last or prepping for the upcoming show.

So please forgive me if I'm not my usual, fluffy self, when I'm on the road. I'm really not present. I'm in the tour bubble. Until the last gig is done and I finally get my well deserved drink. You can talk to me then, and I swear, I'll actually listen.

Hotel Stadtpark

2011-12-06T13:32:00.000-08:00

It's cold and damp outside. We arrived in Duesseldorf at 6am to a city that, to all intents and purposes, was still asleep. Except for all the pesky early birds flapping around at the airport. How do they manage to look THAT crisp and chirpy at THAT hour? No surliness, no moodiness, no whaddayawant attitude. Just polite questions at the coffee stand as to my early needs, civilized transactions, fast, good natured nattering in German.

Then the cold wind at the train station. Now that reminds me of an early morning at the Munich Bahnhof. Yes, it's cold here. And yes, I am a wuss. Walter and I are staying at the Hotel Stadtpark which we reached at 9am after a brisk S-Bahn ride. We immediately got our room - no hanging around in the lounge until 3pm (that other hotel in Prague). And we went swimming and sauna-ing in the hotel pool and spa. Man, that felt nice!

Today was rehearsal and press conference day. Both went well, I think. Met the bass player, Nico Brandenburg, another tall, very nice German. I will look like a shrunken version of myself on stage next to these teutons, but heck. At least they can shlep the heavy equipment! Tomorrow we will make the long trek to Vienna, Austria, where the tour will officially start at the Tunnel (show is on Thursday at 9pm).

I did want to upload some rehearsal pics, but the vodafone usb internet thingy is somewhat capricious and might rob me of my connection. There will be more news, and hopefully more pics, down the road.

Until then, much love in all directions!

Christmas In July Tour

2011-11-30T08:51:00.001-08:00

The preparations are in full swing. I've been shedding the repertoire like a mother!@#%$% but can't remember the Swedish lyrics to save my life. As usual, I am looking forward to the tour and am, at the same time, completely and utterly mortified - you know, a vocalist.

On Friday we'll have our CD release bash at Lofish Studios. Ulf Stricker, the drummer, has hopped across the ocean to play the show, Johannes Weidenmueller will join us on bass. And then it's packing, tying up loose ends (making sure the studio is in good hands, everybody gets paid, the New School students get closure from the trauma of their last Ear Training class - kudos for fabulous compositions by the way!!!, giving my private students something to practice for the next month etc...).

Then on to the tour. 12 shows for 12 songs, or maybe 13, since I have now written a Christmas song that might make its way into the set. Christmas in Austria with the family for the first time in - I don't care to remember.

And in January, first thing: The New Year's Jazz Voice Workshop in Hilden, Germany!
Ah - yes. Must prepare for that as well...

Tour Itinerary:
12/8/11: Tunnel, Vienna/A
12/9/11: Beim Beppi, Marchegg/A
12/10/11: Musikschule St. Georgen i. A./A
12/11/11: Musikschule Pregarten/A
12/12/11: ORG der Schulschwestern, Vöcklabruck/A
12/13/11: Baumann Glas, Baumgartenberg/A
12/15/11: Jazzkeller Krefeld/D
12/16/11: Capjojazz Hilden/D
12/17/11: Destille Düsseldorf/D
12/20/11: Wiedthalgymnasium, Neustadt bei Wied/D
12/21/11: Herzblut Bocholt/D
12/22/11: B-Flat Berlin/D

A Transatlantic Radio Interview

2011-11-23T11:37:00.001-08:00

Technology - the enabler of communication across oceans, has made it possible for myself and Walter Fischbacher to do a radio interview with Volkmar Theil for Freies Radio Salzkammergut in Austria - via skype. The interview, interwoven with music from our respective bodies of work, will air on December 8th, the start of our "Christmas In July" tour, at 9pm. If you would like to tune in (and are in the Salzkammergut region of Upper Austria at that time), the hour-long show will air at 9pm. You can also listen to it streaming on the radio station's website at www.freiesradio.at once it is posted there.

In this interview you will get answers to burning questions such as what possessed us to make a Christmas album, why I made an album with the title "Songs Of Love And Destruction" and - gasp - what meaning does the Christmas holiday really have for myself and Walter. And of course the ultimate question: Will we stay in New York like FOREVER or are we planning on moving back to the old country anytime soon? (Ask me again after the next election...)
Visit www.lohninger.net for our tour itinerary.

Christmas In July Out Today!

2011-11-15T13:20:00.000-08:00

Isn't it a fun co-incidence that I have a duo show with Walter Fischbacher on the day our collaborative effort of a Christmas CD is released to the world? Although our duo show tonight has absolutely nothing to do with the repertoire on "Christmas In July", it's thrilling that we're giving it a sweet, intimate, energetic send-off. (In case you want to know: Tonight at 7pm at Somethin Jazz)

The bigger send-off will happen on December 2nd at Lofish Studios, with a live show at 8:30pm and a party surrounding the CD launch.

"Christmas In July" is available at www.amazon.com, www.cdbaby.com, www.itunes.com, and www.lohninger.net.
Pick up a dozen to stuff some stockings!
Here's a link to our first review: www.jazmusic.com

My Studio On Tin Pan Alley

2011-11-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

I think I've mentioned this before but - you know - I own a recording studio. On 28th Street. In New York City. 28th and Broadway, for the uninitiated, is Tin Pan Alley "the name given to the collection of New York City music publishers and songwriters who dominated the popular music of the United States in the late 19th century and early 20th century." according to wikipedia. The name originally referred to a specific place: West 28th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenue in Manhattan, and a plaque on the sidewalk on 28th Street between Broadway and Sixth commemorates it. Although I think, lately that plaque has been covered up by a garbage can.

The building that houses my - ok - OUR studio (I own it with my partner in life, crime and other endeavors, Walter Fischbacher) is one of the last ones standing from a by-gone era of grime, dirt and lead paint. Many a client has felt the chill of the rumored ghosts that haunt this building, and there have been two ghost sightings to my knowledge. So the place is perfect to get the creative juices flowing, and we haven't had rats in the building in years.

Gentrification is gnawing away at the edges of our block, and already the building at the corner is being gutted and re-imagined as a swanky hotel, and the developers are huffing and puffing their way towards buying out everything in sight, but so far our place holds. For how long - we don't know.

But for now we work hard at expanding our wall of fame with CDs by artists who have recorded, mixed or mastered here. Maybe, if we're really, really lucky, we'll cover the entire green room this way.
www.lofish.com

The Silent Suffering Of A Tourbus

2011-11-02T08:33:00.000-07:00

Somebody had drilled a hole in the tank and siphoned the gas out of it overnight. Walter found himself underneath the van, gluing the hole shut with epoxy in the hope that it would hold for the rest of the tour. That was last night.

Before that our car had been broken into on numerous occasions, with glass panes shattered, all locks except for one ruined by amateurs and a bloody attempt at getting the radio out of its slot without the front panel attached. If the thief had only thought to look under the seat for a tool case, we would have been spared all the blood on the seats from the cuts on his hands.

We've had to drive from Teplice to Cologne (a ten hour drive) in torrential rains with only a piece of cardboard to cover the shattered pane, and during our last tour in the spring our bus got towed - luckily at the end of the tour, but still - in a country whose language I don't speak and whose customs as far as the towing of vehicles are concerned I am not familiar with. And it was Sunday. The bus got scratched in the process, but we got it back without too much fuss thanks to the club owner's help.

We depend on that car to get us from A to B to Z with all our equipment, without a fuss and, most importantly, on time. When you're messing with our bus you're messing with our tour schedule. So - you know - stop messing with our bus, people! Go break into some muscle car or something. You might find more stuff to filch from there than from the always cleared out inside of a jazz musician's touring vehicle.

Look To This Day

2011-10-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

This is taped to the wall above my desk. It is an ancient poem by Indian poet Kalidasa. May it inspire you, help you through your moments of darkness and allow you to appreciate the gifts of today.

Look to this day
for it is life
the very life of life.

In its brief course lie all
the realities and truths of existence
the joy of growth
the splendor of action
the glory of power.

For yesterday is but a memory
And tomorrow is only a vision.
But today well lived
makes every yesterday a memory
of happiness
and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day....

Pumpkin Chunkin

2011-10-19T11:32:00.000-07:00

Well - who knew!
As the ignorant foreigner that I am what I envisioned when my friend told me we were going to a Pumpkin Chunkin thing in upstate New York was somehow a contest with people actually and physically - as in with their bare hands - hurling pumpkins across a field. And the winner would get -oh, I don't know, the biggest pumpkin of the lot and the highly coveted Pumpkin Chunker of the Year Award.

Instead I was confronted with this huge contraption that flew the American flag and, incongruously, a pirate flag at the end of its long tube. It's called an air cannon. Ah, yes, of course. And, weirdly, when the pumpkin was hurled into the air at a speed that made it almost invisible to the naked eye, I cheered at the sheer force of that cannon, and at the ridiculousness of it all, with the glee of a child watching fireworks.
Pumpkin Chunkin Air Cannons

The Independent Artist - Part 2

2011-10-12T14:45:00.000-07:00

One-hundred-and-twenty-one mailers. Each one of them containing a copy of my latest baby - "Christmas In July". Sent out to press people all over the country. Hand-stuffed by yours truly, with a press release wrapped around them and extra postage stickered on the envelope, because stamps.com quoted me the wrong fee.

In a couple of weeks I'll start in on the radio promotion - another three-hundred envelopes to stuff - hoping that my promo copies won't outsell me on amazon and ebay this time around (the cover boasts the "promotional copy - not for sale" warning. so watch out, people who illegally sell promo copies online for 99 cents: it's really bad karma to do that!).

And then - off to the strange bubble that is touring. In the winter. In Austria and Germany. Oh the snow, the autobahn, the Verlängerter (espresso with milk), the shows and the audiences. Looking forward. It´s going to be a good one :)

Where the magic happens...

2011-10-05T13:07:00.001-07:00

Ah - that little nugget...

"Christmas In July"

2011-09-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

My new CD "Christmas In July" - THE CHRISTMAS ALBUM is mastered. The graphics are done, and promotional copies are being manufactured in a mystical land called New Jersey, as I write this. The drop date has been set - somewhat randomly I admit, at November 15th, at which date, if the stars disperse their beneficial light in just the right angle, the real thing will have been printed up and shipped to me from my label in Germany. (oh, that rhymes!!!)

And thus the promotion cycle begins. My bank account yawns blearily at me, as I try to extract another nickel from its dark recesses, and the evil credit card man is waiting around the corner with his long sharp knife, ready to extract tribute for the debt I might have to incur in order to give this little baby a chance in the harsh, big world out there. But wait - check incoming! Phew! So I whisper my incantation to the credit card man, and he dissolves into a poisonous puddle of quicksilver, while my bank account sighs a short lived sigh of relief and burps a small, green, bubble.

Yes, I am now on the dark side of the moon, having just wandered through the creative process of making an album. This phase is a whole lot less fun but, as stated above, necessary. And while I hunker down here in the dark and wait for the light of creativity to shine its rainbow colors on my sun-starved skin yet again, a part of my brain is already plotting and scheming as to what I might do next. And the part of my mind that is responsible for perseverance keeps chanting "abundance abundance abundance" into my inner ear - which is, admittedly, somewhat annoying but probably unavoidable.

The moon will keep turning and soon, so soon, I will yet again burst into the light on the other side. But in the meantime I shall promote "Christmas In July" and allow whatever crazy, lurking ideas to gestate in the dark, so that they may burst forth, when their time comes.

The Independent Artist

2011-09-21T11:10:00.000-07:00

When I was little, maybe about 6 years old, I had this dream of becoming a vocalist. In fact, I can't remember not wanting to be a vocalist. The jazz bit was a later development. But I digress...
So. I was 6 years old and had these grand ideas of having a label (well, maybe awareness of labels came a few years later), making albums, touring, performing on TV, having a manager. You know, fairy tale land of a 6-year-old.

Flash forward to the latter half of 2011.
Reality check:
I make albums.
I go on tour.
I have performed on TV. And live radio.

Also:
I produce/fund said albums.
I book most of my gigs myself.
I am my own graphic designer. Too bad I can't take my own photos...
I fund/enable my own promotion.
I'm also - to some extent - my own mixing engineer.
Heck - I even own a bloody recording studio.
And I teach.
And write.
And practice.
You know. Musician things...

So, I guess, all that's missing, really, is my own venue (lord help me!).

But I am not alone in this. Here's a shout-out to all my singer/musician/writer friends, who stand with me, in the trenches, every day. This is what we chose to do. It's so much harder than I ever thought, especially as a 6-year-old. And yes, it's true. Nobody is holding a gun to my head, forcing me to struggle on. But every time I am ready to just lay down, give up and let the powers that be roll over me I think about what I would rather do. The answer to that question so far has always been - nothing. I sing. I write. I tour. I create. It's who I am. It's who we are. I am honored to continue putting one foot in front of the other with my fellow artists. To add my color to the weave of this life, come rain or shine, warts and all.

Road Warrior Part 2

2011-09-14T12:16:00.000-07:00

My first bike was purple. I had it for all but three weeks, before it got "picked up" right outside the New School, where I was studying at the time.

Bike number two was black. This one I had for a bit longer, until one rainy afternoon, when I decided to leave it chained to the lamppost outside my apartment overnight, so as not to carry all the dirt into the kitchen.

Bike number three was a glorious and in hindsight, stupendously silly, bright, attention-hogging sky blue. This one got stolen twice. Sort of. The first time I left it chained to an iron-wrought fence in Chelsea on a Sunday afternoon. Two hours later I came back to find it devoid of its wheels. Poor baby had to be re-wheeled, re-tubed and re-tired. I think I had it for roughly another year after that. Happy times. Until it got whisked away from right under my nose. I had it chained to a handle mounted on the wall outside my recording studio. On the third floor. Some nifty bugger actually went through the trouble of removing the handle in order to take my beautiful ray-of-sunshine bike.

I went off colors after that and opted for a sturdy black beast, hybrid with bits of shiny lettering that I proceeded to cover with duct tape. I still have this one. It has served me well for ten years, but I will very soon donate it to the streets of New York City, once it's clear that my brandnew, beautiful bike, is here to stay. I have secured the quick-release back wheel with a hose clamp and acquired a roll of hockey tape to camouflage the bike's shininess, squirreling away any treacherous stickers that would advertise it to the highly organized crime ring of NYC bike thieves as a "steal".

It rides smoothly, the gear shifts actually work, and the tires are only a sexy inch and a half wide. On to the avoidance of knee-deep potholes, unexpected cab doors and oblivious pedestrians. On to the next ten years of riding my bike in New York City.

Writing is a fickle thing

2011-09-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

I have yet to write about 9/11. Or maybe I don't. Fact of the matter is, that, as it's 10th anniversary rolls around, my creative juices have been absolutely, completely mumm on the subject. I remember friends, who poured their pain and heartache into devastating pieces of music and poetry, who wrote eloquently, succinctly and with great humanity about what that day meant to them. But I simply had nothing to say. I was voiceless. Still am, in fact.

Then again, it took me twenty years to write about my father's death and thirty to put my mother's heartbreak into words, and even then the lyrics came out in Spanish. Go figure. So, I guess, I am a bit of a slow cooker, when it comes to soul wrenching trauma. I'm OK with that. Can't change it anyway. Maybe, eventually, I will write about that day ten years ago. Maybe by 2030 I will be ready.

In the meantime life happens, love waxes and wanes, ideas float around, just outside the realm of the concrete, waiting to be acknowledged and realized. So yeah, I'm pretty busy, plus I've got about, oh, twenty more years, before my song/poem/story/one-act play about 9/11 decides to pour itself onto a piece of paper. Or maybe this will indeed be one of those life experiences that I will never write about at all. And if that is the case, then so be it.

Electricity To Burn?

2011-08-31T12:40:00.000-07:00

I was drenched in sweat, laboring away at the Eliptical at my gym last night, while at the same time, via the local news, bearing witness to the awful flooding in the TriState area, courtesy of x amount of inches of rain brought on by Irene. Main streets and side streets equally inundated with water that had nowhere to go, and power turned off as a consequence. Or, elsewhere, in parts of Long Island, simply no power, period.

After my hour of cardio on an electricity-powered machine - one of about, oh, twenty - I descended into the locker room, where I was jumped by a wall of noise caused by two flatscreen TVs blaring at full volume and second rate hiphop, pumped through the gym-wide sound system. And then the sheer wastefulness of this - apparently completely normal - way of doing things without regard for the consequences hit me. I know, I know. Small peanuts. A couple of TVs and a sound system - so what? But do they really have to be on AT THE SAME TIME? SET TO DIFFERENT CHANNELS? And I know that my wimpy efforts at conserving energy in Manhattan will very likely not help anybody in New Jersey get their power back. But it shaves a sliver off of my guilt at living in such overflowing abundance, when, just across the river, whole towns are left in the dark for yet anther night.

Can't talk, am busy obsessing about my Beethoven wrath wrinkle

2011-08-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

Age-defying creams, make-up, injections, chemical peels, laser treatments infra-red light exposure and on and on and on...
What is so terrible about looking one's age? Why the obsession with "defying" the aging process? I've got news for you: you can't.
But we get so inundated - or more bombarded with messages to the contrary (Buy this, use that, inject that) that we are wholly and thoroughly distracted from the things that give meaning to our lives. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself here. But I for one feel that I simply don't have the time or head space to dedicate myself to a sisyphusian uphill-battle that would only pull me away from the more important, urgent, business of creating. There. I now have created a blog obsessing about the very thing I pledged not to obsess about. I am stopping now. Nuf said.

London Today

2011-08-10T10:39:00.001-07:00

The Christmas CD is in the CAN!

2011-08-04T13:50:00.000-07:00

Me and my new best friend: the Gefell M 990 mic.

Yes, it's done. At least the recording part. Now comes the usual, mixing, mastering, what should we call this thing, and whose CD is it anyway? Oh, and let's not forget the COVER! Moody dark ECM landscape? Me in a risque outfit with a santa hat? A frog wearing a santa hat in an alien landscape, with three spaceships in the background and stonehenge to the left, with a speech bubble saying, "Kiss me, I'm Santa"?
Ah, the possibilities are endless.

Be sure to check back for the end result. Maybe we'll just call it "The Green Album".

Into the Studio!!!

2011-07-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

The German contingent has arrived from Duesseldorf, and several smaller and one extended rehearsal later we find ourselves on the eve of recording our very first Christmas album. 9 languages, three arrangers, 12 tunes - it's thrilling to go into the studio with these guys tomorrow. The fabulous Johannes Weidenmueller will join us for the recording date.
It is going to kick butt! It is going to be epic! And it's all going down at Lofish!!

line-up:
Elisabeth Lohninger, voice
Walter Fischbacher, piano
Axel Fischbacher, guitar (not related, btw)
Johannes Weidenmueller, bass
Ulf Stricker, drums

Breathe Promise, Breathe Hope

2011-07-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

I found a rock, and I sat on it, its ridged surface without comfort, without a handhold. The ocean's foamy edge gushed over the rocky lip, a definitive demarcation line:
this far, and no further.
One breath.
In - out.
And another.
And another after that.

Like a rung on a ladder, each breath held the promise of an end.
An end to the pain.
To the roiling turmoil so vividly acted out by the surrounding scenery.
Each promise kindled the fledgling seed of hope, delivering a fresh supply of air to a spark threatened by the all-consuming darkness.
Hope was not lost that day. The spark flickered alive once more, to carry me through the night, so that I would witness, again, the miraculous break of dawn.

Singing and Language

2011-07-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

Ah - the cursed twang! It goes against everything I have grown up with, as far as the dulcet sounds of my native Austrian tongue go. The German dialect I grew up speaking is shaped in round, dark vowels, interspersed with half swallowed consonants that get dragged even further down my gullet by a low, low tongue. As far as singing German opera goes, the language is stupendously suitable. However, don't ever try to sing anything but that! Unless, of course, you are willing to sprint so far outside of your comfort zone that every vowel and consonant feels as unfamiliar to you as the third star to the left on the belt of Orion, and you have to start from scratch, reassembling the shards of old habits into something bendy and malleable.

Now - American English, with all it's chewing gum cowboy inflections and, topographically not quite as far outside of New York, Long Island "twang", has a definite advantage, when it comes to stepping outside the somber, dramatic opera of Central Europe. Of course there are vocal technique issues with American English speakers. They are just a different set from mine. But the linguistic divide that comes into play when working on vocal technique that allows you to be a versatile, modern vocalist, is, at least, notable.

With my own students, I find it interesting that, in essence, every single Japanese singer I've worked with, shares some of the same issues (that blasted "ue" sound that doesn't want to open up), as does ever French and, yes, American one. Of course each student has his or her own set of obstacles to deal with, but some generalizations definitely do apply.

And thus, my friends, I shall continue to hoist the dorsal part of my tongue up and stubbornly continue in my quest for the elusive twang. In the end, no matter what our mother tongue may be, our goal as vocalists is the right distribution of effort, so that we can get out of our way and start expressing what's already there.

A Day At The Beach

2011-07-06T11:50:00.001-07:00

Brighton Beach ain't the Carribean, but it's close enough. At least for this New Yorker stranded in the Northern Hemisphere and too far away from the turquoise waters of Isla Mujeres.
There was a leathery specter on the patch of blanket a few staked claims over, who was way beyond skin cancer concerns. The police rifled through the lay-abouts and plucked the recreational pot users from the masses but ignored the surreptitiously stored open containers and the paper bag-less bottles of cold Corona.
Sunburns blossomed with abandon, cooled by the occasional dip in the murky waters of the Atlantic. The orange life guard liberally perused his whistle but refrained from cutting through the waves with the help of his dorky and equally orange float.
Fun was had.
Pizza was eaten.
The beach promised, beckoned and delivered.
And the Q train, predictably, was full enough for me to enjoy my ride standing up all the way to Union Square.

Christmas in June

2011-06-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

For the last few days I've been sitting in my cave, sorting through and transcribing Christmas songs. And it is WEIRD! At a time when the sun is working hard to bring the pavement to a boil, electricity bills shoot to a place where the sky's the limit and beaches beckon with a promise of unrelenting r&r, I am holed up with my trusty youtube listening to "Jingle Bells" in Japanese. And some tune in Danish. And Swedish. In the end this vastly disparate collection of tunes will hopefully gel into some sort of "Gesamtkunstwerk" that we'll unleash on unsuspecting audiences come Christmas. But for now I am resisting the pull of "Petit Papa Noel" and "Vom Himmel hoch ihr Englein kommt". Such is the nature of the business though. You want to tour with a Christmas project containing songs from all over the world on the topic? Put your nose to the grindstone, wade through the molasses of gooey fare and find the nugget that will, 6 months from now, express a precious aspect of a holiday that, at this very moment, you really couldn't care less about.

The Ghost of a Driver

2011-06-01T14:08:00.000-07:00

What goes through the mind of a guy who drives 90 miles an hour on the highway in the wrong direction? "Why is everybody insane?!?"
The guy in question slammed his pedal to the metal in a sports car on the road to Prague. When the police finally caught up with him, he had managed to cause seven accidents, miraculously none of them with severe casualties. Apparently he was completely high on something or other.
I was not there to witness this. My husband was. Him and his bus load of musicians happened to have just pulled back into the right lane, when the maniac sped past them.
My husband was on the wheel.
There is absolutely nothing funny about this, but Walter managed to find the upside to the situation in his second e-mail after the fact. He claims that, statistically, he is exceedingly unlikely to encounter a ghost driver for the next twenty years.
Phew, I feel loads better now.

2nd Avenue Deli, opening soon on 1st Avenue!

2011-05-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

Kitano - the aftermath!!!

2011-05-18T14:31:00.000-07:00

Photo: Sabine Heubusch
(Bruce Barth, EL, Evan Gregor, Joel Frahm, Jordan Perlson)

I had decided to cab it to the gig. BAD BAD choice. It was Wednesday early evening at 7:15pm. Fifth Avenue...forgetaboutit. So I legged it to Kitano, which was, admittedly, not horrifyingly far, but still, I was wearing heels and dragging my suitcase with all my sound equipment, because, quite frankly, I have gotten VERY VERY picky about my sound lately and tend to lug around supplemental equipment all over town. Got a nice, punchy and very small Mackie monitor, some reverb and a wee compressor, all of which I use as needed.
In the end, just as my pinkie toes were already threatening to secede from my feet, I finally huffed into the elevator that carried my sweaty self up to the Jazz lounge. And everybody was already there! And I mean EVERYBODY! The audience, the band...mymymy.
So I set up my signal chain (rush rush because it was getting late), tooted into the mic to make sure it was working, and decided that I was ready. After kissing half the audience and commiserating with fellow allergy sufferer Joel Frahm about the amount of medication we each had already taken that day, we dove into the gig. Naturally, there were some sound issues. But after that minor detail was remedied (note to self: make sure you are loud enough, WHILE the drums are playing! Rookie mistake, honestly, EL!), we sang, played, emoted and channeled for each other and the people in the room. I sang a song I had written for my mom, during which I almost lost my cool, because it is in fact an incredibly sad song, albeit in Spanish and thus at least once removed; and we had the usual hick-ups and triumphs associated with the territory of live performance, that I will not elaborate on here.
I will however say that one of the highlights of the night for me as a performer was my duet with Bruce Barth on the marvelous Cy Coleman tune "With Every Breath I Take". I think we both lost ourselves in that song, broke each other's hearts and gave in to absolute, searing devastation - but, you know, in a good way.
I am still smiling thinking about that gig. Truly, I am incredibly privileged to work with fellow musicians who are totally down with raising each other's game. And when that happens, when we elevate each other, the magic flows, and the world is whole for a few, fleeting moments.

Kitano

2011-05-10T11:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we had the long planned rehearsal for my show at Kitano here in New York this Wednesday. The pianist was running late due to the very scary word "Flood" in his text informing me of his tardiness. The drummer rode his bicycle from Bed Sty to midtown Manhattan and arrived drenched - as if he had just witnessed said flood. Hmmm...But he had a bag of dried apricots in tow, so the world was a beautiful place again. I ended up playing piano and singing at the beginning of the rehearsal - oh well...but eventually everybody was present and working intensely for 2.5 hours to make it through as much music.
I am very very much looking forward to this show, it will be incredibly fun and musically exciting, can't wait.
Come out and see us!

Joel Frahm, saxophone
Bruce Barth, piano
Evan Gregor, bass
Jordan Perlson, drums

Wednesday, May 11th, sets at 8pm and 10pm
Hotel Kitano
66 PARK AVENUE AT EAST 38TH STREET
New York City
www.kitano.com
For reservations: 212-885-7119

The Way Back Begins Here

2011-05-05T15:46:00.000-07:00

Train Station in Austria at stupid o'clock in the morning...

Touring 3 - the dreaded COLD

2011-04-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

Ah yes - there it was. The last two shows of my tour could not go by without me catching the dreaded and wretched cold that hangs like a specter over me every time I'm on the road. Especially on that last show my sinuses were so clogged and my post-nasal drip in such full swing that I almost turned away from the monitor after singing the first few notes of the show with a resounding "urghh!" The horror! The sonic ugliness being hurled back at me by my monitor speaker! Maybe if I drowned it out with a very large amount of very long reverb???

The good news is that I have assembled a pretty respectable assortment of tools over the years to deal with this kind of thing, one of the most useful ones being the lengthy but very effective "Anti-edema" exercise, given to me by the marvelous Estill voice teacher Robert Sussuma. This was not the first time I came to rely on such a set of exercises to thin out my vocal folds in order to not break anything upon hitting my high notes, and it sure won't be the last. But having a constantly expanding tool box handy takes some of the pressure off, even though it doesn't make the actual gig all that much easier. Interestingly enough, I learn a ton of things about singing in these situations, because you simply cannot be imprecise in your technique then. Your voice will give you the finger and stretch out its tongue, if you don't. So yeah, even more learned, more clarified, more overcome.

In the end, the audience actually loved the show, the house was packed, I ended the tour with a dramatically belted high note during the encore ("Georgia On My Mind"), got four (!!!!) bouquets of flowers that night and sold all my CDs. So I guess it can't have been that bad. And lucky for me the coughing didn't start until the next day :)

Touring 2

2011-04-20T14:14:00.000-07:00

It's 11pm, I'm in my hotel room, tired after show number 7. The band is downstairs at the bar, drinking and smoking, and tomorrow they will tell me the stories of their hang on the bus. So far, the tour has been going quite well, shows for the most part well attended, people pleased with what they heard, equipment - again for the most part - holding up.
We were lucky today. There was a sound man, whose name I still don't know and also could not ask, since the sound man doesn't speak anything other than Czech and probably Russian, both languages I have not even begun to wrap my mind around. I can politely say "prosim" and "Djekuje", and I can hawk my CDs in a weird but mostly funny mix of English and a select few Czech words, like the price for the CDs. It's my attempt at humor mixed with local flavor, and, again, for the most part, it works. The sound man had his PA already set up when we rolled in, and we didn't have to empty out the bus completely, because they have a gated and guarded parking space!

Two more shows. It is amazing, how quickly this tour has been passing by. It rushes right through me like a high speed train and leaves me completely exhausted but also happy. I'm not saying that this is the happiest I have ever been, that touring is the greatest gift to musicians. At least for vocalists, it ain't. Can't party, can't drink, must go to bed, take care of my voice, blablabla. But I gotta tell you, I have some moments during the day, before the show and during the show, when I am so happy that I could burst. And that's really all I need. Those moments, they make it all worthwhile (plus running water in the hotel rooms, towels and soap :)). Because I get to do this. I get to drive through a foreign country with a group of exceedingly nice guys, and bring my music to total strangers. Ain't that something...

On Tour

2011-04-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

Ah the blogging! Difficult while travelling. So I will make this brief, since my internet access is limited. I am in the beautiful town of Trebic right now, we played a great show to a fab audience in a pretty large hall. Nice dinner was had afterwards, and I even got flowers!
We are three shows in, recording the gigs and listening back on the bus, handing out penalties for clams and shoulder pats for winners. The gas station food has not improved since my last tour, and neither has my sensitivity to smoke, which, occasionally, can pose a problem in the Czech Republic.
Tomorrow we will be in Lazne Belorad and Saturday at Jazz Dock in Prague, one of my most favoritest cities in ze woooold.
Will post again on the weekend, when there is more time and uninterrupted sleep to be had.

A little poem about touring

2011-04-06T17:24:00.000-07:00

Getting ready to go on the road in Europe again, I'm posting a little poem on the subject matter. :)

it’s an oddity
a bus full of guys
and me
on the way to a wee
little village in
germany
guided by the voice
of prissy ms. Gps
we follow the trail
of white stripes going west
seeking this mystical place called
club
and hoping people will show up
so it won’t be just the guys and me
on the road through germany

Happiness First!

2011-03-30T13:59:00.001-07:00

Radical? - possibly. Impossible? I don't think so.
Consciously committing to happiness before and above all has been an interesting experiment for me. Let's call this unconditional happiness. This is not the "I will be happy when..." version of happiness. OR the "If only...then..." kind.
This is the kind that I commit to, right now, without a back-door, without rules or reasons. It is also the kind that comes with letting go of judgments in even the smallest circumstances, the tiniest encounters. Just accept whatever comes as it is, with no "story" attached, no proof that this is either really "good" or really "bad" for me.
It is the kind where I have a constant barometer built into my psyche that points to where I am at any given moment in the possibility department. Do I feel that things are possible, and my life therefore limitless, or has the needle dipped below the red line and my mind screams "Just give up already and start whining!"? In which case I immediately start thanking the subway, indoor plumbing, Skype and my cat.
It's an interesting experiment. And - well, actually fun! And for some strange reason I feel quite happy about it. :)

Heidi's Jazz Club

2011-03-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I was fortunate enough to be invited to perform at Heidi's Jazz Club in Cocoa Beach, Florida. Just stepping off that plane in Orlando, feeling the warmth on my skin, made me feel lighter and brighter. My compact rental car turned out to be RED (my favorite color), and I had such a good time driving automatic (I come from the stick shift tradition) and cruising along the highway it made me want to go out and buy a car!
The sun, the beach, and - well, the SHADE! Since I am essentially translucent at the moment, I cannot really hang out in the sun without burning to a crisp within minutes, but boy, did I like the shade.
Heidi, the one whose name the jazz club bears, turned out to be a lovely, strong willed Austrian lady who has been running her business down in Cocoa Beach for 25 years. Her joint is a very classy spot with great Austrian cuisine, a grand piano, good sound and a very lovely and helpful staff. So, if you're ever down in Cocoa Beach, stop by Heidi's. It's definitely worth it!
Heidi's Jazz Club

Japan

2011-03-16T20:12:00.000-07:00

I am sad and heart broken about recent events in Japan. As usual when such huge events happen, I feel helpless. There's precious little I can do to actually help, except check in with my Japanese friends, watch the news and donate to the Red Cross. So I'm keeping this one short today and am just posting a couple of links here.
1) Donat to the red cross here
2) Get Japanese news translated into English Here.

My prayers go out to the people affected by the earthquake and tsunami last week, and I keep my fingers and toes crossed that a melt-down in the power plants can be avoided.

View from the Stair Master

2011-03-09T16:51:00.000-08:00

My gym - I never thought I would have a gym - is located across the street from where I work. I am proud of the fact that it took me fourteen years to actually join one. But now that I am a member MY gym has become part of my life style. Sometimes the onslaught of unwanted information via flat screen TVs (sound ON thank you) AND music blaring from the speakers is a teensy bit much. But now that I have finally made it to the last row of the cardio floor and discovered the hidden Stair Masters that look a bit forlorn and unloved, tucked away in the furthest corner, I can preside over the flock of screens and not be bothered. At 11pm things actually calm down considerably, the models have usually already gone home, the heavy lifters deserted their 75 lb dumbbells and it's just a handful of late workers who have finally FINALLY untangled themselves from their office chairs and are ready to get down, get sweaty and get it over with. Just like me.

A New Era for Reading

2011-03-02T11:23:00.000-08:00

Today marked the second time in my life that I came to sit next to a person reading the same book as me on the subway. The last time was over a decade ago, when I was reading Tony Morrison's "Paradise", a weighty tome of a book, especially in hard cover. The lady next to me held an identical copy in her hand. We smiled at each other and read on.

Times have changed since then. As I found my seat on the crowded 6 (which is definitely my least favorite line apart from the G which is only running in Brooklyn and hence does not really concern me), I pulled out my kindle, booted it and started to read, not before checking out the guy sitting to my right cradling his very own gadget - the sexy iPad, deadly enemy to kindles and nooks all over the world. Nowadays I have to squint to see what the other person is reading, since the title is only displayed in a tiny line on top of the "page". Can't tell by the book cover anymore. And squint I did - and noticed with shocked pleasure that in peaceable silence on the noisy train iPad and kindle displayed the same book. The iPadist, however, never noticed. I guess he doesn't squint.

Bass traps for my spaceship

2011-02-23T10:54:00.000-08:00

A guy from Maryland made fifteen - read my lips - FIFTEEN custom build bass traps for our studio. He decided that he wanted to shepherd his babies to safety himself and was going to drive up from Maryland with his truck, practically hand delivering the boxy things. But it has been an active winter, and twice his efforts were thwarted. Twice we had marked the studio as "booked for the bass trap guy", alas, to no avail. But in the end, he did show up, and he even installed the first one. Made little plaques with the studio logo on them and placed one on each of his bass traps. He had even made a song during the process of making them that he sent to Walter. Cute song, too. So now the control room in Studio A looks like a spaceship, and when you're in there you just have to take off into the stratosphere and beyond, buffeted by a clean, slap-delay-free sound. www.lofish.com

New York State Of Mind

2011-02-16T16:48:00.000-08:00

When I came to New York in 1994, I felt a little lost in this large place, coming from a tiny village in the hills of Austria. From the get-go, the Empire State Building was a beacon for me, an anchor. Living in a loft on the Lower East Side with anywhere from 3 to 7 roommates at any given time (no walls, just curtains - very authentic LES living for the time), life could get a bit crowded, I could get a bit overwhelmed, I might drown a little bit in sensual overload. But the Empire State Building was always there, like a light tower in the vast sea of humanity, guiding me home.
Today I have a recording studio practically in the shadows of the building. I get to see it every day, in all its moods and colors, cloudy, stormy, or radiant. Always there. And I look up from the struggles of my day, and can't help but grin a little.

50 proof prune

2011-02-09T10:24:00.000-08:00

Once a year, if the prune harvest was good enough, my grandfather would set up our perfectly legal, farm-size, distillery, where he would distill the legally allowed amount of prune schnapps per inhabitant. I think that also took into account the children, because for some reason we always ended up with a whole lotta clear, strong liquor.
In earlier years, the distillery would take over the laundry room for 2 days, and only later would it be moved into the by then vacated horse barn. I should mention here that it was perfectly customary to peruse the schnapps as an antidepressant that had a calming effect on distraught children. Whenever one of us was distressed, crying and at the end of his or her wits, my mother would sit us down on the kitchen table, pour a shot glass full of the 50proof prune, have us drink it and say, "OK, let's hear it." And for some bizarre reason this actually helped. Maybe it was just the much craved and rare attention we would get, the being seen and taken care of (albeit with strong alcohol in combination with said attention), but I do remember these moments rather fondly.

When my dad was alive, he would hang out by the kitchen window and drink the occasional shot of home-distilled with the tourists staying in our village, and just chat and have a good time. And when I was visiting home several years back, my mom (who has MS), my sister-in-law (who was very pregnant at the time) and myself (who was very rusty in all things pertaining to farm life) had a shot of the stuff, after successfully liberating a calf from it's mother cow's belly.

Nowadays I tend to get a bottle of it from my brother, who still sets up the distillery once a year, bring it back to New York and treasure it like the special, nostalgic and irreplaceable thing it is.

A very long day at the "office"

2011-02-02T11:00:00.000-08:00

6am: alarm goes off, after a restless and very short night
6:30am: i leave my house and step out into pre-dawn New York, to walk over to port authority
6:45am: i ask the info clerk at Port Authority where the bus to La Guardia stops. She points me in the wrong direction
6:50am: Coffee and a cookie, stepping to the wrong curb waiting for my bus, asking another person there who tells me this is the right spot
7:05am: asking another person about the bus stop because of unexplained feeling of unease, find out that the bus leaves on the other side of the building, on 42nd street.
7:06am: running towards the bus which is scheduled to leave at 7:10am, sloshing coffee all over myself and dropping my precious cookie
7:10am: i catch the bus!!!
8am: arrival at la guardia, smooth and easy check-in
8:15am: more coffee, meeting up with the rest of the rumbatap crew. the sun is up by now
9:30am: take-off towards chicago o'hare
11:30am: chicago o'hare, transfer to moline, part of quad cities
1pm: arrival at moline, il, picked up by supernice Lance and driven across the mississippi into iowa and davenport, where the theater lies
1:30pm: meeting up with max, chikako, james and paul, who have already been through an intense week of 3 shows a day and are in the middle of figuring out the light issues in the theater
2pm: lunch of tasty and necessary sandwiches, coffee
2:30: rehearsal of brandnew band tune, while max is doing more lighting stuff in the main theater
3pm: prolonged sound-check due to some technical issues
5pm: tech/light rehearsal, where I get my major brain farts over with
6:45pm: protein bar and nuts (can't do the pasta before the show, people!!!)
7:30pm: Rumbatap show starts - we're psyched
10pm: Rumbatap show ends to a standing ovation and an encore!!!
10:10pm: pasta!!!
11pm: checking in at the "Austrian/Alpine"-themed hotel, which, quite honestly, would be the perfect backdrop of a horror movie, complete with dark wood paneling, portraits of obscure royalty on the wall and a huge wooden chandelier in the entrance hall.
11:30pm: time for a post-show beer at the local bar, with lively political discussions with Lance and a general rehashing of the show
2am: bed! dead to the world for about 4 hours, then only intermittent sleep
10am: getting ready for the trip back to NYC
so long, Quad Cities, it was a fun trip!!!
Photo by James L. Shipp

The Concert That Almost Wasn't

2011-01-26T17:20:00.000-08:00

An eighteen-wheeler almost foiled our best laid plans for a fun, special show at the Zinc Bar. Fellow vocalist and friend Beat Kaestli and I had planned, booked and rehearsed for a double feature show and were ready to go on. The sound had been checked, the new piano admired (nice one, Zinc people!!!) and the camera set up for some footage to be used later for the all-important youtube clip. But Fred Kennedy, the drummer, and Matt Wigton, the bass player, had not yet surfaced from their drive into the city from Queens. Stuck on the Queensboro Bridge, was the last verdict I had heard. Friends and music lovers had taken their seats, drinks had been served, and I was contemplating breaking my rule and having a drink BEFORE the show, and still - no bass and drums. Eventually we decided to start as a trio, with just the pianist, Walter Fischbacher. Beat, in a last ditch effort, called the guys one more time, and finally, finally, they were just outside, parking. They did their sound check in ultra light speed, and, with only a 15 minute delay, we went on.
Fun was had, music was made and all ended well. And I had a lovely drink AFTER the show, as usual.
Photo by CO Moed

The Zither Expose

2011-01-19T16:20:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, I always wanted to learn to play piano. So, naturally, I was doomed to play the Zither, a traditional Austrian folk music instrument that is best known from the wavering music theme so essential to setting the spooky mood in the sewage system under Vienna in the Orson Welles movie "The Third Man". This piece of music is about the coolest ever written for the Zither (in my humble opinion), and, actually, quite difficult. Needless to say, I never mastered it. Because, you see: having to play Zither can only be described with one word: TORTURE. You have to press on a fret board with the fingers of your left hand and pluck the string you're pressing on with the thumb of your right hand, while plucking a bass string and at least three harmony strings with the remaining fingers of your right hand. The strings are mostly metal and therefore not conducive to tender baby-skin stubs such as mine, the sound is quaky and tinny, and you have to practice way more than my 10-year-old self could ever manage in order to build up your calluses. My primary school teacher and mentor at the time gave me way too much credit for my efforts by stamping me "Iron Liz with leather fingers". As far a cry from the truth, if there ever was one! In fact, I tried to get by on as little effort as possible (just touching the strings sent jolts of agony and angst down my spine) and winged it for as long as I could. Until finally one day I went off to boarding school where I lied my way into getting piano lessons at last. I have not looked back.
Check out a video of "The Third Man - Harry Lime Theme" played by Anton Karas

Respectfully opinionated

2011-01-12T17:51:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, as the tragedy in Tucson, Arizona unfolded and comments from politicians, spokespeople and your next door neighbor started pouring in, a huge collective magnifying glass was pulled out by some to look at the rhetoric that has been used on political platforms throughout the country. I will refrain from naming any well-trodden examples here, as I'm sure you all read about them and commented on them in your various blogs and social networks. I watched comments pouring in on the Facebook news feed, with heated verbal sparring going on, and, on some occasions, massive venting of the less than respectful variety. I do understand the need for immediate expression. But I also believe strongly in the power of words and thoughts, in the weight a word carries and in the wounds it can inflict. I have put my foot in my mouth plenty of times and am still working on getting better at being respectfully opinionated. The oft-quoted "vitriol" that political exchange is often soaked in these days permeates not only political stages but also our everyday lives. How we treat each other reflects on how we behave as a nation. I cannot directly change the level of discourse on national political level. What I personally can do is add a pinch of mindfulness to my own behavior as a human being. I can only, as always, start with myself. Or, to say it with Ghandi: "You must be the change you want to see in the world."

Ringtones NOW AVAILABLE!!!

2011-01-05T13:12:00.000-08:00

I'm proud to announce that some of my music is now available in ringtone format. Go ahead and visit my website www.lohninger.net to check them out or click on the widget below! More music is to come, most likely more of Walter Fischbacher's stuff in addition to mine, so keep checking back, as I make the tracks available. Hope you enjoy!!!
PS: Just to avoid confusion: Lofish Music is the label both Walter Fischbacher and I own to exclusively release all our music on.

The Vocal Aftermath

2010-12-29T13:55:00.000-08:00

I have yet to practice today. I have yet to dig my voice up from the nether world of post-cold post-nasal drip waste land. Which seems so a propos, looking at the aftereffects of the snow storm last Sunday. Yeah, that car, unrecognizable under a pile of snow, that's my voice, only the side mirror peeking out. Well, maybe, if I'm lucky the sun will shine down my throat and thaw my vocal chords from their paralysis and the general feeling of "Wha...?", so that I can swing by my husband's gig in Brooklyn tonight and sing and swing a little bit and start feeling like a vocalist again. Now, wouldn't that be lovely...

Merry Christmas to the dead and the living

2010-12-22T12:39:00.000-08:00

For years after my dad passed Christmas Eve was the day when, after all the joyful prepping, decorating, gift wrapping, praying, eating, singing, and (it's TRUE!!!) walking to church for Mette in the snow with a lantern, we would stick a three-foot high Christmas tree on his grave, and, after several sometimes vain attempts of lighting the candles in the nightly wind, stand in silence, while my mother quietly cried into her handkerchief. Those moments were hard. Especially the closeness of pure elation (I particularly loved singing "Stille Nacht" in the darkened church) and deep, gut wrenching sorrow. But it was all part of the ritual, including my father's siblings who would join the circle, each armed with their very own handkerchief to weep into. Only after a decent amount of mourning would there be the acknowledgement of the person next to you, the aunt, uncle, brother, sister.
But it had to be done. It was part of the ritual, the inclusion of the dead in the celebration of the living. "Merry Christmas" was said at the end, over and over, like a mantra, until we all dispersed back to our warm houses, leaving the dead behind, but still putting a candle in the window, so they too might find their way home.

I Miss Christmas

2010-12-15T11:38:00.001-08:00

I miss Christmas. The old one that I remember from child- and young adulthood. The rituals (as Catholics we would fast until about 4pm in the afternoon, someone had to get the Light of Bethlehem from the church, the tree needed to be done up, etc), the cooking, the praying (my grandmother admonishing us for being simply unable to keep it together and giggling incessantly during the rosary - but only because she SNORTED!!!), the singing in front of the tree, lit with REAL candles, and, yes, the gifts. All of this does not exist anymore for me. Now all I see is the machinery that tries to make us believe our loved ones only know that we love them, if we buy them large and expensive gifts. The Christmas redux that I see all around me, starting with the nauseating loop of the same 5 Christmas tunes in every store I enter (essentially since November 1st) that is supposed to get me in the mood to spend money I don't have for stuff I don't think anybody needs on a holiday that has nothing to do whatsoever with increasing my credit card debt. So, what gives? What does this time of year mean for a recovering Catholic with an aversion to cultish behavior of any kind, especially of the monetary variety? I like to think it means bringing a bit of light into each other's lives by letting each other know that we are THERE for each other. Especially when it's cold and freezing out and we might have another 3 months of this lying ahead. So, no, I won't go and plunder my account to satisfy societal mandates. I will however write cards and call my friends and family to let them know how much I love them. And yes, there will be a tree, because it gives us joy. But alas, no real candles.

Citizenship

2010-12-08T12:27:00.000-08:00

160 people from 57 different nations were gathered to become American Citizens. There was a lot of waiting involved (about three hours of it), the lint from the rug crept up my shiny new black boots, we had been relieved of our cell phones and cameras - for security reasons - ah, security, following me everywhere. In the end, the judge came and spoke, we pledged and we swore, and I must admit, that I got just a little bit choked up. I know I know, all you cynics out there: as Craig Ferguson would say - I await your letters. Trust me, I am fully aware of the flaws of this country. Just like any other democracy, this one has a slew of problems to contend with, a mountain of issues to solve. And there are many things I do not like about the election process OR the politics here. (the strange extremism blooming on both sides of the aisle? the aisle? the disregard for the need of solving some of our bigger problems right now and the tendency of pushing solutions back until after the next election cycle? want me to go on?) BUT I have found that a lot of good is to be said about the constitution and its amendments, on which this country is based. The rights and freedoms of its populace. Having studied for my citizenship test (and unfortunately forgotten many a fact already due to early onset dementia, no doubt) I have learned to appreciate the ideals this country is based on. Those ideals I can appreciate. 57 nationalities in one room, being sworn in as American citizens. Somehow, that gives me hope.

One Word At A Time

2010-12-02T13:29:00.000-08:00

A student asked me the other day how she could go about interpreting a song. She felt overwhelmed and disconnected from the material, kind of like a tiger jumping through hoops, getting caught up in the "how to" of it and losing sight of the "what" or "why".
After having worked on vocal technique with her for over 30 minutes and starting in on the "song" part of the session, I asked her to step away from whatever it was she was trying to do. No adding to, no taking away, no "interpreting" or "acting" of the lyrics. Closing her eyes she sang the song we were working on one word at a time, without any emphasis on anything other than that one word, followed by the next word and the next. Allowing each word of a lyric to come to her instead of rushing towards it and trying to mangle it into something it wasn't, the song became her song. It became simple, effortless. Free of judgment and deeply personal. It moved me. And made me think about all the preconceptions, judgments and interpretations we carry around in our minds every day, towards every person we meet. Even every task we are supposed to perform. Maybe focusing more on just the next "word" might be a nice exercise for a day or two, just to see how it feels to walk around without allowing the constant monologue inside our brain to dictate how we feel and see the world.

Thank You Thank You Thank You Thank You

2010-11-24T15:01:00.001-08:00

As someone who was not raised in this country I never could quite wrap my mind around this holiday called "Thanksgiving", a day, it seemed, when families got together, drama unfolded (according to various movies), dark and half forgotten family secrets were unearthed, women cried, children fled and men withdrew to their dens to watch a mysterious game called "Football" (I think). I still don't have a connection to this day, even after 16 years of residing in this marvelous city of New York, having built a life here, complete with a happy marriage, a wonderful group of friends, a pretty great teaching gig, my own successful recording business, a career as a jazz vocalist and a fabulous apartment in - gasp - Manhattan. But it seems to me that even a non-American like myself can connect to the word - "Thanksgiving" - giving thanks: for, well, all of the above. Which, I believe, should not be restricted to one out of 365 days of the year. So, here's my early New Year's Resolution: I will commit to saying Thank You every day in the year 2011. Who's with me?

Slightly out of tune...

2010-11-15T16:09:00.000-08:00

It was a large, brown grand piano. Sitting in the corner, beside the stage. The fact that it was not actually sitting ON the stage should probably have given me a hint as to the quality of this instrument that, visually at least, dominated the room. It was not until after sound check, dinner, show, shmoozing with friends, family and strangers, not until the fire in the open fireplace had almost burned down to its embers, we had broken down the PA, and the lights were turned off, that I finally, FINALLY got to sit at this piano and see what happened if one actually tried to play on it. As I hit a supposed Major chord, the maws of hell opened up, a dust cloud emerged from the piano's voluminous body, the emanating sound transporting me smack into the soundtrack of a horror film. Nothing I played made sense! The notes kept squealing and trying to squirrel away from underneath my fingers, down was up, and up was, well, something entirely different. Truly, it was magnificent! Only a Bach Prelude would do to illustrate the magnitude of the out-of-tuneness that was mauling my ears. Desperately trying to hold on to the piece, I had to concede defeat and give in to the strangeness that purported to be a C-Major chord, that wickedly and cunningly lead me astray into an atonal depth that I had heretofore only experienced in my darkest, most glorious nightmares.
Witness the Destruction HERE

One - new photo

2010-11-10T13:57:00.000-08:00

Because I can't think of anything constructive or funny to write about (my life just tinkers along merrily while I try to get my stuff in) and I have another show coming up in New York City with my beautiful pianist husband Walter Fischbacher, I've decided to use this blog for the release of a new photo of me, which my friend Quimera Music (www.quimeramusic.com) took and added the glorious touches to.
I'll post the details of my show (Tuesday, Nov. 23rd at Miles Jazz Cafe NYC) in a separate Events posting on my various (and by now numerous) outlets tomorrow.
Until then, be well, be creative and fierce!

Rake handle singer

2010-11-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

We've seen it a million times in Romantic "chick flicks" (most notably "Bridget Jones Diary"): the lead actress lip-syncs a tune while clasping a hairbrush handle and transforming said brush into a make-believe microphone. These instants of uninhibited romantic mania do of course not happen in real life...or do they? I buckle under the weight of your accusing stares and admit it: YES, I did sing into a handle posing as a microphone! Except: it wasn't a hairbrush. No! My fake microphone of choice was, in fact, a rake handle. Growing up on a farm in rural Austria I had plenty of opportunities to bend a farming tool to my will, and I did so, with great gusto! I also did not lip-sync, because, funny enough, there was no sound track to my raking and hay making efforts, apart from my singing. In fact, my whole family would be singing various tunes while in the field. And we would sing extra loud when we passed each other to make sure the other person knew just what tune it was we were mangling that day. My older sister driving the tractor belting down some Peter Alexander (you know, the Austrian dude from the fifties movies with Caterina Valente), my other older sister raking in the opposite direction with the help of some folk tune, and me, probably laying down some Michael Jackson (my memory is a bit hazy on that part). My brother pointedly did NOT sing. Must be a girl thing, I guess.So there...don't say this stuff doesn't exist, because it does! And I can attest to it!

And by the time they're five...

2010-10-27T12:59:00.000-07:00

Working with small children is a very interesting experience. They are so open, so interested and oh sooo easily bored and done with you! Who knew I would ever do the C-Jam Blues (in about five hundred variations) with a group of two-ear-olds? And the five-year-olds - don't even get me started! They are essentially done with life, have seen it all and just want to go on plotting the end of the world, which I realized when I noticed them leaning back with folded arms, drawing on their cigarette, with a derisive look in their eyes that clearly stated, "is that all you've got?"

Characters

2010-10-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

One of the glorious things when on the road is the encounter with people who, in their sweet and sometimes disturbing uniqueness or cliche-fulfilling ways make your day, or night, depending. There was the chain smoking sex therapist, who kept on lighting up enthusiastically despite a complete loss of voice. The very drunk species of southern Bavarian "Stammtisch" inhabitant who had already been nudged towards the door by the be-dirndled waitress but kept trying to string a sentence together to fling at our poor but very sweet bass player; who, on his way out of the "Wirtshaus" spontaneously, and, well, in a very trainwreck-like fashion, serenaded me with an umpah band song that I had never heard, mimicking what looked like a broken clarinet. It was difficult to say... Or the lady on night shift at the hotel, who, at 1am, blessed us with an outer stream-of-consciousness monologue while we had a night cap at the hotel bar (very generously poured, I might add), and did NOT stop until we left, claiming she could speak various German AND Austrian dialects which, to my apparently deaf ear, all sounded the same (oberpfaelzisch, I think). But my favorite kind of "character" came in the shape of the jazz club owner, who, in 1986, moved to his present location precisely to run a jazz club in the basement of a commercial building, and whithout whom the place would definitely no longer exist. Who just loves to talk about jazz, recordings, musicians who have come through, the state of the business, more jazz recordings (oh Sarah Vaughan live in Kopenhagen! - must get my hands on that one!), meanwhile wielding first a broom, then a microphone cable and later a dish towel, keeping the customers lubricated and us musicians happy with his musical punctuations, thoroughly upbeat manner and, well, interesting coffee. Thank you, Eugen! I hope you stay with the jazz community for many more years!

when old friends sing together

2010-10-12T02:07:00.001-07:00

Berlin: Shared Night at B-Flat. My friend Alexa and her husband Jens host this night once a month, on the first or second Monday of the month, sharing the stage with another, invited, act. Except last night it was a somewhat unique constellation. It was in fact a congregation of old friends who had met fifteen years prior as music students in New York City. Struggling, searching for their voice, their identity, trying to stay afloat in the ever chugging maelstrom that is spitting out the ignorant and devouring the hopeless. Each one of us was hesitantly trying to assemble a musician's life, not quite knowing or recognizing all the pieces of the puzzle, searching for his or her particular way through an undulating maze.
Now, fifteen years later, in Berlin, things are different. Alexa Rodrian, Beat Kaestli and I arrive here slightly bruised by life's daily challenges, somewhat tired and worse for wear after years of pushing, creating, living, becoming partner, wife, mother. But also with a clear sense of who we are, as artists, as friends, as human beings. Each one of us raises their voice, their own, unique voice, and in the end, we come together in a song or two that bears witness to our deep disparity as beings and personalities that nonetheless blend to a true, ringing harmony.

The Dunkin Experience

2010-09-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

Scene: a Dunkin Doughnuts somewhere in upstate New York
ME: "Do you have tea?"
DUNKIN LADY: "Yes, we do."
ME: "What kind of tea do you have?"
DL: "Small, medium or large."
End of Scene.

The Incredible Bizzarness Of Promoting Your CD

2010-09-25T14:37:00.000-07:00

The CD is done. It is out in the world, and soon, oh soon, I can move on to my next creation (with no idea what it's gonna be... suggestions?) But until then I have to dedicate at least part of my energy to the promotion of THIS CD. Ah!!! As an independent artist it is completely up to me how much money I wish to (or CAN) throw at the problem of getting the CD heard and reviewed. That part I can control. What I cannot control is whether or not anybody will take notice, despite having assembled a remarkable and decidedly female team (I literally just noticed this!). Of course, one can choose not to invest the money in promotion, but then - and I speak from experience here - one needs to invest in a whole load of storage for the unsold discs. There's only so many coasters one person can use, you know...So, promoted the CD must be! (Thank you, Yoda.) So far, so...well, you know.
Upon trying to get my music reviewed in Germany, though, a country that I tour fairly regularly, I was told by one journalist, that for that to happen I would need distribution in that country. Why? Not so the CD is readily available, should a wayward customer accidentally pop in on a CD store and wish to pick up a copy, oh no! It's because the Distributors are the ones who in essence fund the press by placing big and well-paying ads in the German jazz publications. And so it goes, and so it goes...and now I know, and you do, too.
Having come to terms with the fact that the jazz market appears to be a rather small entity anyway, I will continue to carve out my niche in it and do what I can to get my music out there. But I have also come to the conclusion that I am a much happier camper, if I focus on the things I can actually DO and not on the things I believe I should have done or cannot do.
Thank you to Ann Braithwaite and Lisa Reedy, my PR person and radio promoter respectively, for being on my team!!!

The Notary Public

2010-09-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

His base of operations is in a dingy, crammed and dusty hardware store with a peeling sign outside. It looks like it's been there for hundreds of years, and, stepping over the threshold and adjusting to the lack of light inside, I am surprised to find that they actually DO sell elecric light bulbs. The gentleman behind the counter, sliver-haired and bespectacled, informs me that the Notary Public will be back in ten minutes. When he finally steps into the store, ashtray-thick glasses hiding a pair of squinty eyes over a droopy, thin moustache, he looks me over and says, "You again! Didn't I just see you? What do you want NOW?" Well, the last time I actually was in to see the Notary Public was pretty much a year ago, but I let that one pass, and instead inform him that it's that time of the year again. "Well, I guess you still don't make any money, right? Here, let me see." And he grabs my paperwork in need of certification, fishes in the ample folds of his cardigan for the Notary stamp and proceeds with his work, my income papers resting on his voluminous belly. "How can you even live on that?" he opines. I mumble something to the effect of "I manage..." thinking "really none of your business". Sign sign, stamp stamp. "That's four bucks. You can pay at the counter." And with a turn he vanishes deep in the bowels of the store. "Good bye" I mumble and drop off my cash with the silver-haired spectacles.

"Songs Of Love And Destruction" Out TODAY

2010-09-01T14:44:00.000-07:00

I am very glad and excited to announce that my CD "Songs Of Love And Destruction" is officially released as of today! First reviews have been fluttering in, I am including a couple of links below.
Come swing by one of my music pages to take a listen to some samples, comment, communicate! And swing by during my CD Release Concert on October 4th at the Zinc Bar! Apart from my brilliant band I will also have the fantastically musical Ingrid Jensen on trumpet adding her voice to the mix.
Thank you to all who have helped in making this CD, in one way or another. You know who you are, I love you dearly.

Reviews:
www.allaboutjazz.com
blogcritics.org

A birthday song for my mother

2010-08-07T03:57:00.000-07:00

Writing a song for your mom's birthday is like ripping open your body right above the solar plexus and letting the ghosts from your childhood reappear. The thought to do this struck me whilst vacationing in Prague a week before my mom's 70th birthday. It was a big one, a significant one that had the potential to wreak all kinds of havoc on my wispy soul. It was the age my grandfather died a miserable death after an awful stretch of bone cancer, and I, unable to bear the pain of seeing the mere husk of him, hid from the truth. It is also 30 years longer than my dad had on this earth, before he, too, was felled by the vicious creature. It is, in a farm village in rural Austria, generally considered the age, when people think of you as OLD. But I don't think of my mom that way. Yes, she is fragile due to her long illness (she has multiple sclerosis), but she is tough, that one. Weathered and stringy, like a strip of well-worn leather, with a life of hard work and the deep creases of hardship etched around slightly hazy eyes. A life of dreams lost or given up, for the sake of survival of herself and her children. Of constant struggle against the forces that would tear her family apart, that would rob her of the strength she needed to get up every morning, get behind her own sysiphusian rock and start pushing it up the mountain, knowing that she would have to do it all over again the next day. Of seeing her children grow up into responsible, healthy adults who would follow their own dreams, creating their own lives which still included hers.
Sitting in the botanical garden in Prague, armed with a pencil and a piece of paper, I was engulfed by the spirits of a time long gone that, surprisingly, still had a stronghold smack in the middle of my heart. It was time to give thanks, to acknowledge and appreciate all that I have been able and allowed to do, because she kept getting up every morning, doing what she could, never giving up and never letting the demons win.

What a night...

2010-07-26T04:11:00.000-07:00

The other end of an intense but incredibly rewarding week of jazz workshopping has been reached. It's Monday, and I'm into my second day of - gasp - VACATION here in Prague. Have yet to sort through 8 gigs worth of pics from the workshop and will post a small selection here at a later date. After a very successful singers' concert on Friday night (with me feeling proud as a mother hen) the last day of workshop went by very quickly, and on Saturday night, while the final student concert was happening at Jazz Dock, I had my own full show at another jazz club here, U Stari Panj. I was incredibly weary and tired, but music has the ability to pick me up and restore me. We played to a sold out room (!!!) and had an absolutely fabulous time! Shout-out to Frank, the owner, for running a great club and being an incredibly kind person.
By 1am we were done with our gig and went back to Jazz Dock to the post workshop jam session. They were seriously rocking the stage when we walked in, with some tight funk music and a nice horn section. One thing lead to another, drinks were had, music was played, songs were sung, and at sunrise I found myself onstage, singing "Route 66".
Walking home with my husband in the very early morning was sweet, and we decided to go straight to breakfast at our hotel (6:30) before going to bed.

Thank you to Magda, Kuba, Petr, Klara, Veronika, Jarda and all who have worked hard to make this workshop a success. Also thank you to Aga and Hanka, my fabulous vocal teacher colleages, and, finally, the students! You were great, dove right in with us into a superintense ride of exchanging ideas, learning and creating. I had a fabulous time!

Workshop in Prague!!!

2010-07-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry cats, I have not been a good girl in terms of blogging regularly. Life caught up with me and I was swept up in preparations for my trip to Europe and finishing a track I was working on. So now I'm in Prague and feel all sorts of guilty for not being on top of this thing, but here it is. I'm up to my eyeballs in teaching at the Jazz Workshop in Prague, which is going famously. I even got a cool T-shirt that I might actually wear. Maybe tomorrow??? Prague is the postcard city it has been for the last couple of years, I'm in a lovely hotel (after a rather stinky night in a different room I reside now in a completely odor-free environment) and having a complete ball with my students. It's great to be able to give impulses, ideas, prod them in a certain direction, and generally help them get a better understanding of their instrument and chosen style of music. Hopefully there will be some pictures along the way which I will post accordingly, maybe with my next blog! But now I must be off to Jazz Dock where an award-winning young band called "The Three Cheeses" (well ok quattro formaggi) is performing tonight.
Will post again soon! In the meantime loads of good vibes from the Vlatva River!

Street Warrior

2010-06-28T17:30:00.000-07:00

I have been a New York City bicycle rider for years. I have lost gallons of sweat on 5th avenue, right before passing the Public Library where I usually have to pass several express buses, have managed to avoid bike versus pedestrian collisions, frozen my fingers off in January and caught a sinus infection in the process, had some of my greatest insights while barreling through a Manhattan canyon and - yes - landed flat on my backside at the intersection of 34th and 2nd. (It was HIS fault, by the way, but that's beside the point, when you're riding a bike in New York City). I AM A STREET WARRIOR. To borrow a phrase from our president: Make No Mistake! Riding your bike in Manhattan IS WAR. I have won many battles and lost a few, and who knows about the eventual outcome, but so far so good. When riding a bike on the Great Avenues of this splendid city I tend to adhere to the infinite wisdom of Yoda, who gave Luke a very useful piece of advice in the marshes of the Dagobar system during the crucial "raising of the ship"-sequence. "Don't try. DO!" You either ride a bike, or you don't. There is no room for dawdling or dabbling. If you want to dawdle, go ride with the hordes in Central Park.

My bike is a sturdy beast that can sustain a dip into a pothole or the very unpleasant trip up the freshly stripped 1st Avenue, and my marbles are protected by a fire-red helmet. But I do know that it's dangerous. I have seen the white-painted bikes marking the sites of deadly accidents, and I have had my share of close calls. But I have also learned to assume that a) nobody sees me b) everybody around me is insane and c) will do unexpected and irrational things. Shifting my attitude that way has, strangely, also helped me get a handle on life in general. So, life lessons learned here are:
1) Don't try - DOOOOOO!!!!!
2) Everybody around me is insane!
3) And WILL do unexpected and irrational things!

And now I'll grab my black, duct-taped, aging bike and helmet, weather the late June heat and ride into the sunset on Park Avenue (ok, no sunset, but definitely Park! - it's sooooo wide!!!)

The screaming baby, the tennis star and the incident with the reserved seat

2010-06-12T17:05:00.000-07:00

What is it with airports at stupid o'clock in the morning? Sometimes it's purgatory, sometimes it's heaven, but these early hours are always accompanied by a sense of weightlessness and a stupor it's hard to shake, even with the help of a $5 cup of wimpy cappuccino. (I'm looking at you, Charles de Gaulle airport!). After four hours of relentless baby screech due to a double threat of very little travelers not at all happy to be carted around the globe at 2am (yes yes, I do feel for the poor one-year olds who cannot grasp the concept of air travel, let alone cabin pressure change, but a girl needs her sleep!) I arrived to a glorious sunrise at Charles de Gaulle airport, which, I must shamefully admit, is the only part of Paris I know. It was 5am. No coffee to be had, nothing but to endure the carting around on a crowded bus from one terminal to the next to get my New York Connection. After whizzing through security (again), locating and making it to my deserted GATE 37 (insert choir of angels singing a glorious "AAAAAAHHHHH") I discovered that there were seats with electric plugs (watch a movie on your laptop while you wait!) which I promptly steered towards, only to be admonished by a lone figure behind a little "Air France" lectern, that these seats were in fact "RESERVEES!" I must shamefully admit that since my nerves had been laid blank from four hours of the aforementioned I did utter an unflattering expletive but caved and proceeded to occupy a plug-less seat. After immersing myself in the movie du jour for a fitful 30 minutes I saw a lady with a PAPER CUP of what surely must be - gasp - COFFEE! Ten minutes and some awkwardly mumbled French phrases later I was perched on a chair next to a little table, coffee and pain-au-chocolat within reach, resuming my movie watching, when I saw Tennis Star walk towards the freshly baked goods! I did gawk just a little to make sure it was really her - the lady has legs up to her neck and is kind of hard to miss - only to resume my pretend blase-ness in the face of worldly fellow travelers. For some reason, knowing that she would be on my flight, albeit in First Class as opposed to the Cattle Section, made me happy. Bring on the babies, the nuked omelets and the tiny pillows! I can deal! Oh, and for the record - I do not need a seat with a plug, because MY laptop is in fact CHARGED.

Beyrouth 2

2010-06-04T05:08:00.000-07:00

Spent yesterday afternoon with Waleed Akar, the owner of Mojo's Jazz Club here in Beyrouth, and his journalist friend. They took me to the sea for lunch - an opulent meal of fried fish, fresh hummus, taboule, stuffed grape leaves and the thinnest pita bread I have ever seen. AND, very incongruously, French Fries. I saw a guy fishing on the beach and asked the journalist, if it was ok to fish so close to the coast. He told me that you can't really eat that fish, if there is any, because the sea is still polluted from the 2006 war with Israel, when several oil tankers were destroyed. The Lebanese get their fish from Turkey. That made me incredibly sad.
Politics are a huge topic here, especially what is going on in the Gaza strip right now. Protests on the square in front of the international office building downtown have lasted three days, but apparently the protesters have been asked by the government to cease their sit-ins, that they have made their point. The border to Israel is only about 50 miles from here, so the whole drama feels slightly more imminent than when I read about it in New York.
The population here is generally tri-lingual, due to the various occupations over the last couple of centuries (most notably the French and the British), with everybody here speaking Arabic, French and English. So far I have managed to learn one word in Arabic - shoukran, which means "Thank you". (the spelling might be completely off, since this is more or less phonetic). So communicating with the audience during my shows has been fairly easy. Tonight we'll have one more show, and then I will finally have a drink!
My flight back to New York leaves on Sunday morning at 2am. Red eye, here I come! But first, one more show, and, hopefully, a trip to downtown Beyrouth.

Beyrouth 1

2010-06-03T01:09:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday I landed in Beyrouth/Lebanon for my first venture into the Middle East. I am performing at Mojo Jazz Club for three nights, and last night was my first night on the gig. It is always slightly nerve-racking to go into a situation, where I have to perform with a band consisting entirely of people I don't know, especially when there is only very little rehearsal time involved. Granted, my music isn't terribly complicated, but, to quote myself, it's "A little bit tricky" (but not that hard).
Strangely, upon arriving at my hotel on Tuesday and taking my first walk in the streets of Beyrouth, it felt a bit like New York. People are loud, energetic and have a gruff exterior, only to reveal a minute later that they are your best buddies (well, ok, not quite like New York) AND they drive like maniacs!!! I was warned twice on my way here NOT to attempt to drive in Beyrouth, unless I had lived here for a few years. OK, point taken.
In any case, back to the show. So far so good, I would say, and I think the band agrees, that we found each other during the second set of the first night. All of a sudden there it was - common ground. Not that the first set was bad, but THE CONNECTION opened up during the second set. Funny thing happened during the first one though. Georges K., the pianist, dropped the last page of his chart during his solo, and, while I was perusing my shakers, I went over to him and put it back on the music stand. On my way back I noticed that the piano had gone eerily silent during the solo (he was using a keyboard, btw)!!! Looking down on the ground I noticed that a cable was unplugged, and Georges was grinning at me helplessly. Turns out while helping him get his charts back together I also robbed him of his sound by inadvertently stumbling over and unplugging his power chord! oh, the joy of live performing! Next time I'll bring a solid roll of duct tape and tape all lose ends to the floor.
Off to explore new corners of this great old city! I might blog again on this one, if the wifi holds up (sitting on the floor in the doorway of my hotel room, which is the only place where I can get an occasional connection). Until next time...

No more finger pointing!

2010-05-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

To be political or not to be political - that's an interesting question. As I am absolutely heartbroken over what is going on in the Gulf of Mexico right now and possibly in the foreseeable future, I am having a hard time writing about how to retract your false vocal folds or what throat spray to use when travelling from New York to Beirut. I think it was about time that somebody blew a gasket over the abysmal neglect that has been bestowed on this whole incredible disaster by the current administration. (I'm talking about you, James Carville!) Seriously, fez up to your administration's shortcomings, go down there and show support! This looks to become one of the biggest ecological disasters in history, and you are talking about shifting troops around? Stop the politicking and get your hands dirty, Mr. President. Show us that you care.

Ooh - it's Christmas!!!

2010-05-18T12:39:00.000-07:00

I am happy to announce that I received the finished copies of my new CD "Songs Of Love And Destruction" today. I have to say, I've been through this process several times before, and it just doesn't get old. Opening up the first box of 1000 identical little squares just gives me a thrill every single time. This is generally accompanied by a sigh of relief that the cover did not, in fact, turn out to be a black catastrophe, and that the CD is in fact not skipping and contains MY music, and not somebody else's. (Paranoia, my old friend/I've come to bask in you again...)
"Songs Of Love And Destruction" is not slated for official release until September first. I will keep you posted on the digital release date, which might happen much sooner. In the meantime, feel free to swing by my Myspace and Facebook pages for samples. By the way, the cover was done by the fabulous Bruno Silva! :)))))

It's the most wonderful time of the year

2010-05-12T08:20:00.000-07:00

Some days, especially during allergy season (that season seems to grow longer every year) I feel like my voice is lodged in a humungous steel drum filled with water. Today is one such day. Days like these make me feel non-singery like nothing else (except when I actually do lose my voice). So what to do? Strong coffee - check. (although naturally completely unadvisable due to it's drying-out effect)
Playful futzing on the computer and general singing-avoidance behavior (including writing a blog on this all-encompassing and worldly subject matter) - check.
Looking for more things to do that don't involve singing (watering the plants, calling clients, getting a nose-full of cat hair) - check.
Booking a jam session with a really cool bass player, that happens - gasp - today! - check. (note to self - what was I thinking? Why didn't I study the weather/pollen patterns more carefully when I booked this thing last week?)
So, I guess it's just no use. I will get in touch with my grovelly side, throw some delay on my vocals and just get on with it. Oh, and do a lot of hihihis, hoping for the Bernoulli effect to kick in.

New frontiers

2010-05-03T11:40:00.000-07:00

How much technique does a successful vocalist need? Apparently as much as one can get one's hands on. I finally made my way to an Estill Technique Course here in the city, and it was such a great experience to
a) be surrounded by like-minded people who were eager to learn, to improve not only their singing but also their teaching for the sake of future generations of singers
b) get an immensely detailed yet strangely applicable bulk of knowledge presented in a way that made my head spin alternately from elation and overload.
Ultimately we all have to find the tools that work for us, that help us be the best vocalists/speakers/teachers we can be. It's the constant striving for finding the word, exercise or explanation that makes your brain click in the right way that propels us to seek ever higher levels of expertise. The need to understand, the urge to be able to recreate what I hear in my head. After 20 years of studying, practicing, giving up, returning, analyzing, putting things together only to tear them apart a minute later, I have come to terms with the fact that this quest for vocal freedom is actually endless. I will spend the rest of my life seeking out that new frontier, that new limit that I find I have set for myself, identify it and overcome it. And then turn around and pass on what I have learned. How cool is that?

Licensing - a little bit tricky but not that hard

2010-04-26T11:32:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I successfully sent off my new CD to the duplicator, after a whole day of detective work on obtaining mechanical licenses for the songs I'm covering on my new CD. Most of them were fairly easy, but then there was that elusive Beatles tune. The Beatles song book has been sold and auctioned off more times than I cared to know before I ventured into this publishing mess. And part of me wanted to not even bother digging any deeper, but I felt compelled to track down the licensing people in essence for purely egotistical reasons - good karma. I believe in the protection of intellectual property. If ever somebody would like to cover one of my songs and include them on their record, I would, of course, feel deeply honored. AND I would like to be paid for it. So I'm just hoping that if that day comes there will still be a viable version of Intellectual Property protection in existence, and there will be those who respect another person's creative output enough to go through the motions. So there. Now I'm still waiting to hear back from HFA on that last, elusive tune...

Sometimes I dream music...

2010-04-19T12:12:00.000-07:00

and if only I could wake up in time, I feel like I could write it down. I have dreamed the sound of my next record. Immediately after I woke up a question popped into my head: "How on Earth am I gonna pull THAT off?!?" So maybe this sound is of a project a little bit further down the line, but I found it beautiful, intriguing. It might also be that these sound-filled dreams really simply help me keep going, to keep whittling away at that sound, that ephemeral quality of beauty, sadness and power. There is always more to strive for, an effort to be more precise in what it is I am trying to express. An evolving toward clarity, removing one delusional veil at a time. Now that makes my heart sing...

My name is just a jumble of letters

2010-04-12T09:54:00.000-07:00

Staring long enough at my name, going through font after font, looking for just the right one to convey - well - modern, jazzy, classy, sad (because of the title of the new CD) but not defeated, strong and yet vulnerable, to make it fit in with the picture I finally chose after agonizing over which way to go with the cover design for weeks, making it a bit larger, a bit smaller, a bit lighter or darker, grayer, less gray, with or without raindrops in the backdrop of the picture, sooner or later I arrive at the moment, where I have stared at my name long enough for it to lose any meaning. For it to look utterly wrong in any context. What an odd word - Lohninger - what does it mean, if anything? (I await your letters...)

Czech Republic ten times please! (prosim...)

2010-04-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

As I was sitting on my plane back to New York, I looked at all the pictures I had taken with my Blackberry throughout the last ten days. Ten days of essentially the same routine of
a) Arrive at new town
b) Check in at hotel
c) Unload van, set up PA (we travel with a full sound system, because we are REALLY picky about sound)
d) Do sound check
e) Go to hotel, take quick nap, do yoga, gargle, warm up, get dressed, put my face on
f) Perform
g) Chill out a little with beer (for the band members) and water or (gasp!) tea (for me)
h) Break down PA
i) Go to hotel, gargle, take face off, go to bed
j) Get up the next morning, have breakfast, check out
k) Load van
l) REPEAT

This is what we dream of, when we are children. Being on the road and just DOING IT. Of course you never think about how hard this actually is. But that's ok. It's also ok not to tell anybody how hard it is, that would kind of destroy the image of the free bird who is allowed to express herself on stage every night with the audience looking on and bringing their own dreams, hopes and yearnings to the music.

As I was looking back at the last ten days in pictures I was in fact overcome by an immense gratitude. I get to do this. I get to go on the road, experience what it is like to BE on the road, warts and all. I get to feel the elation and deep exhaustion, the desperate need for a cup of coffee, the terrible, panic inducing fragility of being a vocalist on the road, and, most of all, the sharing of music. I am privileged. I am deeply grateful. I am so doing this again!

"Hush Now" Cover Released

2010-03-10T10:53:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back I blogged about the great collaborative effort between myself, composer Patrick Rundbladh and Swedish saxophonist Anders Paulsson. In just a few weeks the single will be released digitally on all major outlets. Here's the cover. I will post again once the song is available for download. By then I will be in Czech Republic. Such is the life of a working musician.

www.lohninge.net

When Singers Hang...

2010-03-04T11:40:00.000-08:00

Things might start a bit dark, with caustic humor and cynical comments about the sysiphusian task of continuing to record and make music flying around. We might be whining a tiny bit about the frustrations of our chosen profession, about the changing climate in the music business - wait, is there still a music business? - nodding knowingly to what is said, recognizing the issues discussed as our own. But gradually we start to remind each other and ourselves about the great fortune that brings us to this moment, to this table at the French Roast on a rainy February afternoon. Yes, what we have chosen to do is incredibly hard to pull off. The obstacles are plenty and sizeable. And we constantly have to rise up above ourselves to keep from being pulled into the vortex of paralysis and procrastination. But we get to do what we love. We get to pursue our greatest passion with everything we've got (well, ok - still got to make money doing whatever it is we each need to do to pay the bills). Nobody is holding a gun to our heads, forcing us to press on with this madness and folly that is our calling. And we do find solace in each other - kind of like a vocalist support group.
Two hours, a meal and some fortifying coffee later, we step back out of the beautiful afternoon bubble, a little bit lighter and a bit more heartened by each other's company. Tomorrow we'll get up in the morning and start rolling that rock up the mountain all over again. For today let it just plummet into sweet oblivion.

A photoshoot with hickups

2010-02-17T11:17:00.000-08:00

After months of planning, scouting for a studio and scheduling conflicts my friend Quimera and I finally decided on a date, time and location for a photoshoot, as she had pointed out to me many times before, that I really NEEEEEEDED to GET NEW PICTURES! (which was, of course, correct). So, last Wednesday was going to be THE day, Quimera was going to shlepp from Brighton Beach to the Upper East Side to prep me (numerous shades of delicate coloring on my face, and THE HAIR), and then we were going to take a cab to Skim Milk Studios, our photo studio of choice, with several clothing bags and Quimera's voluminous make-up kit in tow.
On Wednesday, of course, is snowed. Considerably - for New York City. If you live in the city you know that about an inch of snow (2.5 cm for my European readers) will essentially bring the city to a standstill. The subway will be delayed, because it runs above ground in places, and there will be NO CAB TO BE HAD, apart from the fact that under the circumstances it's probably safer and faster to walk than take a cab anyway.
Valiant warriors of the asphalt jungle that we were, we decided to plow on - quite literally, as it were. Quimera's train was - guess what - delayed. I could not put on a hat - and I ALWAYS wear a hat in snowy or even mildly chilly weather, because I am a paranoid, psycho-somatically inclined vocalist, and we hurried through the snowy mess on the Upper East Side, obsessing about the safety of my hair and make-up, sheltered underneath my tiny, rickety blue umbrella, and the additional train delays getting to the studio. Forty minutes behind schedule - an eternity by New York standards - we reached shore at Skim Milk Studios, where a very sweet assistant informed us after several tries that the flash light on the digital camera the studio provided was malfunctioning, and he had to call back the owner who had just left the premises.
In the end we did what we came to do, Quimera shot a gazillion photos of me, the weight of the camera rendering her right arm practically useless after about three hours of shooting - I swear she was listing to the right when we left, I dressed up, stripped down, dressed up again etc. It was fun, it was exhausting, and by the end of the session it had almost stopped snowing.
Thank you Quimera for being such a trooper! You were truly marvelous.

"Hush Now" - A Swedish-Austrian-Manhattan-Coney Island-Stockholm Collaboration

2010-02-08T10:34:00.000-08:00

Once in a Blue Moon a constellation of people, circumstances and ideas comes together that enables the creation of something magical. As artists we like a good challenge and tend to just go with an idea, not knowing where it will lead, what it will become. We see a short piece of red string, grab it and pull, unearthing the next short piece, take a step, pull and so on. Patrick Rundbladh, the Swedish-Coney Island part of this constellation and an incredibly talented film music composer, presented me with the first piece of red string one sunny afternoon in the Summer of 09, when he played me a beautiful piece of piano music he had written. Would I like to write a song on top of that? Well, why not? He then played me the same track with a soprano sax playing on top of it, which was absolutely gorgeous! And here we find the Sweden-Stockholm connection in the shape of renowned soprano saxophonist Anders Paulsson. Anders and I have never met, but with the advent of internet technology we can just shoot audio files through the ether (or are they bounced into space and back down? I'm a bit hazy on the details), work on them on opposite ends of the Atlantic and have it all assembled back in Coney Island. I do hope to one day actually play with Mr. Paulsson, but I think this song we created over the last few months is a good start. It ended up being called "Hush Now". Today I heard the final, mastered mix (thank you Patrick!) and am very happy with it! It will soon be released in download format only, so stay tuned. Cheers!

www.lohninger.net

www.anderspaulsson.se

www.prmusicproductions.com

The Trouble with Singing and Air Travel

2010-02-01T13:46:00.000-08:00

Many "Do And Don't" lists have been compiled to help a human being cope with long distance flights, jet lag, dehydration and all the accompanying side effects (woolly feeling and brain fog in the scull, anyone?), and I dare say that vocalists are particularly afflicted by the effects of shooting through the skies in a tinny tube with 300+ strangers, checking several time zones and the odd ocean. Although many distractions are offered on a plane, from movies to food to liquor to the companionship of the Turkish grandma across the aisle brandishing photos of her loved ones and repeating the same words with varied intonations, the fact remains that air travel is hard on the body. Over the years my stockpile of in-flight tools and pre-flight medications has grown quite a bit, to the extent that I transform into The Mummy's little sister on an overnight flight, completely concealed underneath a protective layer of eye mask, mouth mask, ear plugs, hoodie and two of the flimsy airplane blankets, if I can get them. Oh, and do NOT forget the ever present scarf, lest I catch a draft of that poisonous recycled gas mixture they call air.

I've been told and have read many times that drinking alcohol on a plane is BAD BAD BAD for you. Which is probably true, but since I don't like sleeping pills (they give me the sluggish feeling of a sloth just raised from it's winter slumber) and I absolutely MUST close my eyes for 3 hours on a cross atlantic flight (my own personal rule), I like to take a couple of drinks combined with Melatonin. I also usually load up on anti-oxidants pre-flight in the hopes they might actually do something, like protect me from the classic post-flight cold or cough.

No matter what I do though, my voice just tends to be about a day late whenever I fly to Europe, which makes me think that my voice and my soul have entered into a pact that they would travel together forever, leaving me to arrive at my new location feeling stranded, voiceless and discombobulated for the first 24 hours . Nothing to do but rest, hydrate and - I know, counterproductive - have some espresso.

www.lohninger.net

An anecdote from the road

2010-01-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago, while touring in X, I had a gig at a fairly big and well established jazz festival in the city of ______ . A few weeks before the festival I was sent the paper work via e-mail: tech rider, stage plan, and holiest of holy - The Contract. I was going to be paid $_______, which would happen with the financial support of the Austrian Culture forum in the country, and, to my great delight, we were going to sleep in a ***** Star Hotel! Until the second draft of the contract arrived, with an apology and an amendment pertaining to our lodging arrangements. A mistake had been made. Apparently we were not going to stay at the ***** Star Hotel (!) but instead in a starless hostel in town. Fair enough, I thought, as long as there would be separate rooms for the musicians and it was going to be clean. The ***** Star Hotel was, of course, reserved for the well established jazz artist ____________, and a flustered assistant had sent out the wrong contract.
The actual festival gig in ________ was great. We played a solid show, the stage was lovely, well lit, good sound (I got a stereo mix all to myself!!!), and I received a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Afterward, as I was talking to the promoter, I found out that we would in fact NOT receive payment that very night (highly unusual, especially, if not cleared with the artist ahead of time), but that the money would be wired to my account by the Culture Forum. Bummer, but well, the Austrians are pretty reliable that way (They did deliver in the end). Upon arriving at our accommodations at 1am in the morning we were presented with the following scenario:
a) there were no single or even double rooms available for the musicians
b) we could choose between
Version 1: sharing a 12bed room with 5 Romanians
Version2: having 1 room to ourselves (the entire band), but having to walk through a room occupied by 3 Slovenians, in order to get to the (shared) bathroom.
What to choose? It appeared we had fallen quite far from the ***** Star Hotel in the first draft of the contract.
In all fairness I do have to say that after we called the promoter, who had just gotten home and was most certainly completely knackered, he arranged to put us up in a very nice upper scale hotel with a huge breakfast buffet and mini bar, picking us up from the hostel and driving us there at about 2am in the morning! Since it was the last day of the tour, we were able to do a sweet, comfy hang in one of the beautiful hotel rooms, with some decent vodka at hand to celebrate our good fortune. So, in the end, it all turned out well, and it gave me something to write about! Cheers!

363 Days

2010-01-19T11:18:00.000-08:00

A voice teacher I knew many years ago once said, "you have about two days per year, when the voice is just soaring, everything feels right and is open, and you just open your mouth and SING. For the other 363 days you have vocal technique." I do love that quote, as I think it does sum up nicely one of the major challenges of being a vocalist. As far as I know, the voice is the only instrument that is synonymous with the human body. There is no separation, no "filter" or other tool that we need to study (although of course it helps tremendously to study, say, piano as a vocalist, but that's fodder for a whole nother blog). Now I don't know about you, but my body is definitely not a machine. It feels different every day, depending on amount of sleep (or lack thereof), the weather, what I ate, my mood, my workout regimen etc. There is the rare occasion when I start to sing and everything simply flows. It's HEAVEN. I don't want THAT to end, and I feel like I can sing forever, which, of course, I can't. So I continue to study vocal technique, to practice (albeit by far not enough!!!) and to prepare myself for every single one of those 363 days, none of them the same, each one of them with it's very own challenge posed to me: "Now, can you sing through THAT?"

To Warm Up Or Not To Warm Up - is that a question?

2010-01-13T11:50:00.000-08:00

I have some singer friends, fabulous vocalists all, who don't warm up for a gig. I think that's amazing, but I also know that it doesn't work for me. In fact I hate singing when I'm not warmed up. This may be due to my allergy-infested and mucous-riddled upper respiratory tract, but it's also been like that since I started seriously working on my voice. To me it's a mental and physical opening and focusing, a letting go and tuning in. Releasing the wrong tensions and strengthening the right ones.
When I was on tour last September I played 13 shows in as many days in as many cities. The grind was grueling, to say the least, and culling a warm-up period out of our busy schedule became a matter of vocal survival to me. Four to six hours on the bus, lugging around and setting up a full PA each night (including those oh so handy sub-woofers), bad gas station food and unfamiliar sleeping quarters each night caused me a tremendous amount of neck and shoulder tension. I ended up putting in 30 minutes of yoga followed by 30 minutes of vocal warm-ups each night, starting with a very small sound, gradually working my way up to a more open, relaxed (tongue and jaw anybody?) body feeling.
So, singers: feel free to sound off! How do you get ready for a gig? What works for you, and what doesn't? Is putting on a pretty dress and make-up enough for you to get ready for a show? Comment away!!!
All the best
Elisabeth Lohninger
http://www.lohninger.net